


Pencils and Paint

by CuddlesandChocolateCake



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, F/M, Mild Language, Modern AU, Sexy Banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlesandChocolateCake/pseuds/CuddlesandChocolateCake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feyre is taking a figure drawing class at Prythian School of Art, and when their nude model goes on sick leave, a beautiful substitute takes his place...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first crack at a modern au! Tell me what you think in the comments, and enjoy!

“Why does this inane class have to start at gods-know when in the morning?” Mor grumbled as we walked into the class just as the bell rang seven in the morning. We grabbed our usual seats, right in the front of the classroom, and as I set up my easel, stifling a yawn, Mor added, “You owe me, you know. I’m only taking this class for you.”

“I know, I know. Hey, I heard we have a new model today. I hope it’s not another one like Mr. Attor,” I said, wrinkling my nose remembering the model we had had a couple weeks back whose mottled skin looked like it was about to fall clean off his body, and who was not a particularly polite person to begin with.

Mor bit back a giggle. “Oh, he’s definitely not.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You know the model?”

“Yup, just wait. You _ really _ owe me, Feyre.” A grin that was a bit too devious for my liking spread across her face, but anything was better than drawing a wrinkled old man in nothing but his skin.

Nothing could have prepared me for what – _ who  _ – walked in the door the next moment, as if summoned by Mor’s declaration.

Striding towards the settee at the front of the room was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Beneath his silk robe was a golden tan body sculpted with muscle, and his blue-black hair looked like liquid night as it fell carelessly over his forehead. And his  _ eyes _ … they were such a deep blue that they could have been violet: a colour I knew, without a doubt, that I would never be able to create. He was nothing short of gorgeous.

I must have been gaping, because Mor pinched me and muttered, “Feyre, you’re drooling.” I promptly snapped my mouth shut, hoping no one else had noticed, and schooled my features into neutrality. “Oh, that’s my cousin by the way. You’re welcome,” she sung, grinning triumphantly.

She waved at him, and he looked our way, raising his hand in greeting. I willed him not to see me, lest he notice my flushed face, but he caught my eyes, a smirk playing about his lips. My blush increased tenfold. It was not hard to believe that he and Mor were related.

Mor was giggling quietly at my reaction, and I elbowed her discreetly. “You’re  _ welcome _ ,” she whispered again, and I wasn’t sure whether to thank her or not. Trying not to watch him stride gracefully up to the couch was futile. He was  _ beautiful. _ Rolling my eyes, I cleared my head, willing myself to look indifferent, cool, professional.  _ Not _ , I thought,  _ thinking about that body… _

Our teacher walked into the classroom, blocking my view temporarily, and abruptly cutting off my train of thought. I wasn’t certain if I was relieved or disappointed.

“Class, this is Rhysand. He’ll be our new model for the next few weeks, as Mr. Attor is on sick leave.”

“Figures. How old is he, three hundred?” Mor murmured, earning us a glare from Ms. Amren. Chuckling softly, I turned my attention back to the teacher. Our new model –  _ Rhysand _ – was certainly easier on the eyes.

After Ms. Amren finished explaining today’s lesson,  _ lines _ , she stepped aside, and I fought against the thoughts that were creeping steadily back into my head as I appraised the subject of today’s sketch, which were  _ totally _ inappropriate for a seven am art class. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my pencil.

As if he could sense my errant thoughts, Rhysand looked at me, and I kept a disinterested expression on my face. He merely smiled at me, and held my stare as he undid the tie on his robe. It cascaded to the floor, and he took his position on the settee. My hand shook a little as he adjusted his pose at the instruction of Ms. Amren.

“A little to the left… lower your arm…there.” 

Rhysand was the picture of godlike beauty, draped elegantly across the settee on his back, head turned slightly forward. One arm was bent, his hand going to rest behind his head, and I did not miss the way the muscles in his arms flexed with the movement. The other lay gently on one leg, the other leg parted slightly to give an unobstructed view of his… manhood. I took a shaky breath - I was well and truly fucked.

“Alright, class, you have forty-five minutes.”

It was the longest forty-five minutes of my life. To his credit, he was an excellent model, holding the pose with almost preternatural stillness. That did not make it any easier on me, however, as I tried to sketch his form without allowing my hand to tremble. With the robe on, I hadn’t noticed his tattoos: black swirls and whorls covering his chest and extending down both arms. They were stark on his tan body, and somehow made the muscles stand out even more. I wondered absurdly what he ate to make him look like that.

It did not help that he caught my eye several times throughout the class, each time turning me a brighter shade of red. I thought I might have seen some colour flush into his cheeks as well, but it was probably the lighting.

By the end of the class, I had started over four times, my hand having shook enough that it messed up the drawings.  _ Stupid beauty _ . The finished product, however, was something that I was proud of. My sketch was a pretty good likeness, harsh lines in the planes of his face and the curves of his muscles, and softer lines in the shape of his mouth and his… other parts.  _ That  _ was the hardest part to draw, especially since he always seemed to be observing at me when I looked at his body for reference. Perhaps I glanced at him more often than I needed to, but I told myself that it was necessary for the integrity of the drawing. Nonetheless, I was happy with my work; and apparently, so was our teacher.

“Well done, Feyre. You drew his position accurately, and the shading is very nice. Keep it up,” said Ms. Amren, observing my sketch over my shoulder, and drawing his – Rhysand’s – attention. Under the easels, Mor nudged me pointedly with her foot.

“Thank you,” I said, and I was relieved that it came out calmly. 

Mor, however, ruined the façade; as soon as Ms. Amren turned her back, she turned to me and wiggled her eyebrows, saying, “You know he was ogling you as much as you were ogling him, right?” I was grateful that he was just out of earshot.

“I wasn’t  _ ogling _ ,” I said defensively. A raised eyebrow was all I got in response.

I looked down at myself: a paint-splattered sweater, leggings, and worn sneakers that had seen better days.  _ Ogling _ .  _ Yeah, right _ . I rolled my eyes dramatically at Mor, and she simply grabbed my arm and chirped, “Come on, I’ll introduce you!”

“No! Are you crazy? He’s still naked!” That wasn’t the only reason for my trepidation, but I was sure she knew that.

“I thought you’d appreciate that,” she said with a wink, and poked me. “Don’t worry, he won’t be for long.” As she was saying that, Rhysand bent down and picked up his robe off of the floor, giving me a glorious view of his backside. Most of the class had cleared out by that point, so there were few people to bear witness. I was starting to feel uncomfortably warm.  _ Breathe _ , I reminded myself.

Mor finally succeeded in dragging me out from behind my easel, and sauntered up to the front of the class with me in tow. “Beloved cousin, this is my friend Feyre. Play nice.”

“I  _ always _ play nice, Mor,” he drawled, extending a hand in my direction. I took it, ignoring the lightning that sparked up my arm at the touch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre.” He sounded out my name on his lips as if tasting it, his voice as smooth and dark as midnight.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Rhysand,” I said with as little stammering as I could manage in the presence of this Greek God.

“Please, call me Rhys.”

How did he manage to make everything he said sound so… sensual?

“O-ok, Rhys.” I chastised myself at the tremor in my voice.  _ You are a twenty-year-old woman, not some lovesick puppy. Pull yourself together. _

A slow smile spread across his face, and I didn’t let myself break his stare, not wanting to admit how much it… did things to me. “Your teacher seemed to like your drawing. May I have a look? After all, it’s not often I get to see myself through someone else’s eyes.” That  _ arrogance _ .  _ Figures, _ I thought,  _ one does not model nude without having a sky-high opinion of oneself. _

I raised an eyebrow archly, but Mor didn’t give me time to respond. “Sure! Feyre would love to show you! She’s the best in the class,” she said emphatically, despite the glare I shot her way, which she pointedly ignored. She led Rhys to our easels, and with a flourish of her wrist, gestured at my drawing.

Rhys’s expression changed to surprise, then one that was oddly like… admiration, then back to that insufferable arrogance. “Wow, Feyre,”  _ the way he says my name _ … I trampled down the thought, “I look fantastic.”

“Someone thinks highly of themselves,” I retorted, determined not to let him see what thoughts were churning under my carefully arranged expression of nonchalance.

“According to this, I’m not the only one. You’ve done a wonderful rendering,” he said, looking meaningfully at the sketch of his… member.

I cursed my fair complexion as I felt a blush creeping into my cheeks again. I couldn’t find a comeback quick enough, so I settled for an exasperated look. That insufferable smirk took up residence once again on his beautiful face, and I gave him a pointed eye roll.

He took another look at the drawing, seeming to study it, and his attention drifted down to the crumpled drawings that were strewn around my workspace.

Before I had the chance to grab them, he picked one up and unfolded it. His eyebrows rose inquisitively as he remarked, “You couldn’t draw me just once, could you?” He looked more closely at the unfinished drawing; only the upper body had been finished, thanks to my gods-damned shaky hand. “But you left out the most important part,” he drawled.

“No I didn’t,” I replied primly, faking offense at the implication, “it’s just too small to notice.”

He barked a laugh and grinned mischievously at me. “I’d like to see what other things that sharp tongue of yours can do.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“How about I take you to dinner and we find out? After all, you’ve already seen me naked – it’s only fair. Perhaps you’d like to return the favour.” He gave me a wolfish grin. “Or, you can just sketch me again.”

“I prefer paint,” I replied, feigning disinterest, though my heartbeat was ratcheting up.

His smile turned wicked. “I can work with that. I’ve been told I’m an  _ excellent _ painter.”

“I didn’t peg you as an artist.”

“Only when it comes to  _ fine  _ art, and  _ you _ , Feyre darling, are most definitely fine art. Besides, I am a fantastic painter. Just, not on paper.” He winked at me.

Wondering just what I was getting myself into, I replied, “Prove it.” He gave me an expression that clearly read, “ _ Oh I will _ ,” and grinned as I wrote my number down on one of the discarded sketches and handed it to him. As he grabbed it, his hand brushed mine and sent fire coursing through me.  _ His hands _ … Feeling emboldened by our exchange, I added, “You can keep the drawing. After all, I’m sure you’d like to carry it around so you can look at yourself all day.”

Mor burst out laughing beside me, and Rhys chuckled, low and soft. It skittered across my bones, and I didn’t allow myself to shiver.

“Maybe I just want to be able to say that I have an original piece of artwork from Prythian School of Art’s finest artist.”

“Maybe,” piped up Mor, “but I agree with Feyre.” I met his deep violet eyes, mirroring his characteristic smirk before packing up my things.

“Says the woman who has five drawings of me,” he replied smoothly, smiling devilishly at me. “You’re quite the artist, Feyre darling,” he held up the crumpled sketch, “but I’m sure you’ll  _ much _ prefer the real thing.” He folded the drawing carefully and slid it into his pocket, and my traitorous mind began thinking of all the other things he could do with those hands.

Heat was curling low in my belly, and I was going to combust if I didn’t leave the presence of this gods-damned man soon. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat, Mor and I have class to get to.” As if in response, the warning bell rang. We had two minutes to sprint across campus.

“See you around, cousin!” Mor said as we rushed to pack up our stuff and hurry out of the classroom.

As we left, I could have sworn I heard a midnight voice say, “I’m looking forward to seeing what else you can do with paint, Feyre darling.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter, but it isn't the last one, so stay tuned ;)

Three days had passed and Mor’s stupid cousin still hadn’t texted me. Not that I cared. Really. I wasn’t expecting him to anyway, so I shouldn’t have been surprised; but I couldn’t help the slight twinge of disappointment every time I opened my phone and saw  _ No New Messages _ .

When my last lecture - art history - had finished, I shoved my things unceremoniously into my bag before hurrying out of the building. Why they held an Arts class in the Science building was beyond me, but I was not interested in colliding with Tamlin anytime soon, so I made haste through the halls and out the doors, mercifully without any trouble.

The walk towards the Arts building, lovingly dubbed _The Rainbow_ , was a good deal more leisurely, and I found myself relaxing in my conviction that I would not be bothered by my ex-boyfriend on the other side of campus.

That relaxation slowly ebbed away as I mentally went through all of the work I had left to complete. On top of my midterms, I also had to submit my portfolio, which had been woefully lacking inspiration lately. Work had been suffocating, and it had been hard to balance painting and sketching with waitressing. So, on my walk to the Rainbow, I looked for inspiration.

A brisk autumn wind whispered through the trees, rustling the dried leaves. The cerulean sky, slowly getting darker as the sun began to set, bathed the foliage in rich blues. It always seemed to me that the world painted itself in autumn, as leaves shed their usual green in favour of warm reds and golds. This time of year, I was not the artist - the world was, and I was simply an observer. 

I met Mor outside of the arts building, and she linked arms with me as we made our way to her car. 

“Hey, stranger. Any word from you-know-who?” she whispered conspiratorially. 

“No. I’m not actually expecting him to text me,” I lied. Or, I hoped it turned out to be a lie. “He was all false bravado.”

“I’m telling you, he’s going to. Why he’s taking so long is a mystery to me, but I know my cousin, and he  _ likes _ you.” I scoffed, disbelief written all over my face, but I didn’t miss the way my heart fluttered a little when she admitted that. 

I broke away from Mor to get into her car, a compact, shiny blue specimen that she was prone to driving much too fast, to my chagrin. We spent the short drive to her house chatting amiably about school, about her boyfriend, Azriel, and other  _ safe _ topics, blissfully avoiding the subject of her cousin. For now, at least. 

Mor’s house was beautiful: understated but decidedly classy, and it always felt comfortable - lived in. The house opened to a small foyer, with a plush sitting room to the left, which was tastefully decorated with art (some of it mine) and invitingly soft furniture. To the left was the kitchen and dining area, which was big enough for a party of at least eight, though I had never seen that many people here at once. It had a small porch in the front, with a few chairs looking out onto the street, and three bedrooms upstairs, one of which was, as Mor put it, “Your sanctuary to escape from evil ex-boyfriends and pesky sisters,” and which I had used as such on several occasions. 

This time of day, the view from the front of the house was beautiful, so I dropped down into one of the chairs on the porch and gazed at the sky, which was starting to foreshadow the approaching night. It wouldn’t be too long before the stars came out. Without saying a word, Mor swept up both of our bags and went inside, presumably to grab some food. 

A few minutes later, she returned, balancing a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of what I suspected to be apple cider. She slid into a chair, and as I poured us both a glass, she began, “So, since you’re in love with my cousin-”

“Mor!” 

“Fine. Since you’re in denial about your infatuation with my cousin,” I huffed in annoyance, “is there anything you’d like to know about him? Like, say, if he picks his nose? If he leaves the seat up?”

“Ew, Mor.” But since she was asking, I didn’t think it would hurt to try to understand him better, if only out of curiosity. “How are you two related?”

“Rhys and I are cousins in the barest sense. Like, fourth cousin thrice removed or something. Which is why I’m so much prettier than he is,” she added, ruffling her golden hair.

I chuckled. “Does he have any siblings?”

“Yeah, Cassian and Azriel. Well, they’re not actually his brothers, but they’re as good as. They’ve known each other forever.”

“Wait, Azriel? As in your boyfriend?” How long had we known him - and Cassian, for that matter - and I had never met Rhysand before? “You conveniently forgot to add that crucial piece of information,” I said with a pointed stare.

“Oops. Well, you can ask him all about it at the party tomorrow.”

“What party? Mor, I have so much work to do and…”

“Feyre, I suffer through forty-five minutes of staring at my cousin  _ naked _ every morning so that you can get an eyeful. Consider this you owing me. Besides, you need the distraction.”

“Fine,” I relented. “But what if…” I trailed off, knowing that she knew what I was about to say.

“Tamlin won’t be there. I took care of it.”

“How did you manage that?” 

“I put poison ivy in his backpack,” she deadpanned. At my shocked expression, she laughed. “I’m kidding. He has a midterm. I guess I can save the poison ivy for another day.” She grinned wickedly, and I secretly hoped that she would put it to good use at some point. 

The sun had set completely by the time we had finished eating, and the stars were in full display. We were far enough from the city that the sky was awash with stars, as opposed to the smattering of stars that I was granted from the small window in my apartment. So I lay back, letting the beauty and the constancy of them wash over me and quiet my thoughts of ex-boyfriends and parties and cousins. 

I yelped in surprise when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out and ignoring Mor’s amused chuckle, I peered down at the screen. But the message was from Nesta. 

Nesta, 7:29pm:  **Where are you?**

Frustrated, I didn’t reply and put my phone away, wondering if the prick would ever text me. I remembered, belatedly, that I had decided I didn’t care. But Mor noticed, her keen eyes picking up the change in my expression, and she reassured me, “He’ll text you. Yes, I know you don’t care,” she added knowingly, “but he  _ will _ .” 

Putting it out of my mind and disregarding the flicker of hope sparked by Mor’s proclamation, I looked back at the stars. She sounded so  _ convinced _ , and she knew her cousin much better than I did, but I didn’t allow myself to dwell on it as I avoided her disbelieving stare. I knew she saw right through it, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Feel free to tell me what you thought, and come join me on Tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't stop there... I hope you enjoy!

Mor, 8:02 pm: **I’m picking you up in ten. Dress nice!!**

 _Dress nice_. She and I both knew that was an all but incapable feat for me, as I consistently opted for sweaters and soft cotton shirts over sequined tops and short skirts. It was only a house party, after all, but Mor tended to enjoy pulling out all the stops for these things. So, somewhat begrudgingly, I rifled through my nearly empty closet to see if I could find something suitable.

It took me a total of two minutes to go through all of my clothing, and all that I had to show for it was a tiny lace dress - no doubt one of Mor’s - that had so many straps and clips and zippers that I had no clue where to begin. But I set at it, if only for Mor’s sake. Stepping into what I was pretty sure was the body of the dress, avoiding the criss-crossing fabric, I tried to wiggle into it, furiously pulling on the garment. I must have stepped wrong, however, because my foot caught on a rogue piece of material and I went careening into my wardrobe.

“Stupid dress!”

Not wanting to destroy Mor’s clothes with my ineffectual tugging, I gave up, shrugging on jeans and a black t-shirt, and went to retrieve my sketchbook.

While I was waiting for my friend to arrive, I flipped through my drawings until I came upon my most recent one. It was from yesterday’s class, and it was of Rhysand. We were instructed that day to incorporate fantasy into our drawings from earlier that week, so I had drawn him with wings: great, magnificent wings, black and membranous, with talons at the apex of each. I had depicted him flying, his wings outstretched and glorious and showcasing his strong body as it drifted midair. It was truly a striking drawing, and I thought it might be exactly what I needed to give my portfolio that edge it had been missing, even though I secretly wanted to keep it for myself.

Filling in some of the details, I tried not to think about the fact that I had not heard anything from Rhysand even though it had been four days since my rash decision to give him my number, scribbled next to my nude rendering of the man himself. This, as it turned out, was an impossible feat when I was running a piece of charcoal along the planes of his abdomen.

Despite Mor’s consistent optimism, I was utterly convinced that it was a lost cause; inhumanly beautiful nude models, as a general rule, were not interested plain, paint-splattered art students. She had offered to talk to him on my behalf, but I had begged her not to, not wanting to know why, exactly, he’d had a change of heart.

A moment later, I distantly heard the buzz of my apartment’s doorbell and the jingle of keys as Mor unlocked the door. I wondered why she always rang it if she was going to let herself in anyway.

Mor ran a critical eye over me. “Feyre, didn’t I tell you to dress nice?”

“I tried,” I explained with a wry smile as I held up the dress that I had attempted to put on with evidently minimal success.

“ _That’s_ where that went,” she exclaimed as she snatched the dress from me. “Don’t worry - I brought you this!”

With a flourish, she pulled a dark blue strapless dress out of her bag and shook it in my direction. The next instant, I had stripped out of my clothes, and Mor was zipping me into the tight-fitting dress, which was satiny and inexplicably iridescent. It was quite nice, though a little glamorous for a house party.

I was also coerced into putting on some dark red lipstick since, apparently, “It makes every outfit better.” She winked at me like we were sharing a private joke; one that I, admittedly, did not get.

Mor, of course, looked positively radiant in a blush pink dress that hugged her figure before loosely fanning out over her hips and ending a bit above the knee.

“Azriel’s a lucky guy,” I commented with a good-natured smirk, and she blushed.

“Alright, enough dallying. Let’s go!” she said emphatically, grabbing my arm and dragging me out the door.

 

* * *

 

Mor was right to have dressed me up - I would have been totally out of place here in jeans and a t-shirt. She had failed to mention that we were going to Tarquin’s birthday party, and that it would be held at his house - a giant, hulking manor estate. So not just a college party.

“Rich people,” I muttered under my breath as we entered the house, music already blaring, and headed to find our friends. The house was truly enormous: a huge mahogany staircase leading to a vast upper level, many sparkling crystal chandeliers strung across the ceiling, a kitchen the size of my entire apartment, several plush sitting areas, and a bar - an actual bar - with a herd of people already milling around it.

As we made our way around to find Cassian and Azriel, I took inventory of the people there. After a couple times scanning the room, I was satisfied that Tamlin was not here, as Mor had promised. And neither was Rhysand. Not that I cared.

We stopped just short of a small table where Cassian and Azriel were lounging. Mor scooted around the table to sit next to her boyfriend, who gave her a private smile and put his arm around her, and I took a seat next to Cassian.

Both of the boys had styled their hair; Azriel had smoothed his back, while Cassian had somehow managed to make tousled hair look intentional. They both wore sleek, fitted button downs: Azriel’s in black, and Cassian’s in white. The very picture of light and darkness. Azriel looked entirely put-together, a thin black tie lying clean against his chest. Cassian, on the other hand, had already rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and popped the top button of his pressed, white shirt, somehow still managing to look as orderly as his friend.

“Where’s Rhys?” Mor asked, the picture of innocence. I shot her a glare, which she responded to with a beatific smile, batting her long eyelashes, before turning to her boyfriend and whispering something in his ear. Whatever it was brought a small, mysterious smile to his face. Briefly, I felt a twinge of jealousy for what he and Mor had, exchanging secrets and sharing mischief.

“He’s around here somewhere,” said Cassian, gesturing ambiguously to the dancing crowd.

“Probably at the bar,” added Azriel, never taking his eyes off of Mor, who gave him an unreadable look. Unreadable to me, at least. Looking over, I didn’t see Rhysand anywhere, but it didn’t matter. I resolved that if I was taking a night off, I would let myself have a good time and forget about stupid men and nude drawings. So I violently pushed the thought of him out of my mind.

“I’m going to go grab a drink. Do you guys want anything?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Mor answered, giving me a wry smile, and everyone else agreed, so I walked up to the bar by myself.

Most people must have gotten drinks already, because the bar wasn’t very busy when I got there, with only a few people standing around chatting and sipping. I ordered a gin and tonic and while I waited, I reflected on the past few days.

So, Mor asked her cousin to model _nude_ in our art class, allegedly to spice up my love life. I worked up the courage to give him my number, along with my own drawing of him, and despite every impression he gave me, he didn’t text me. Maybe I was interpreting everything wrong… maybe he just wanted to bug one of Mor’s friends or…

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

I jumped, my heartbeat suddenly beginning to increase its pace at an alarming rate. I knew that voice. Turning around slowly, hoping he hadn’t noticed that he startled me and knowing that he had, I stared up into the face that I had been drawing (and if I was being honest, thinking about) for the last few days.

 _Breathe_. Schooling my features into neutrality, I looked into Rhysand’s dancing violet eyes.

“Look at that. He has clothes.” 

A smooth, breathy chuckle was his response, and it skittered across my bones like a phantom breeze. “As a matter of fact, I do. I just think it’s criminal to deprive everyone of the fantastic view,” he said with a graceful flick of his wrist towards his body. Lifting an eyebrow archly, I did my best impression of Nesta when she was unimpressed by something, or someone (usually Cassian), but I didn’t fail to notice the way his dark, swirling tattoos peeked out from under the collar of his crisp black shirt, and the way it hugged the chiseled abdomen that I had just spent my evening drawing.

“Someone thinks highly of himself.” I cringed inwardly. I knew that my response wasn’t at all creative, but I was glad that I had at least managed to think of one. My mind did strange things around this man.

“Yes, I believe we’ve established that,” he drawled, amusement playing about his mouth. “And I don’t think I’m the only one.” He winked at me, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes, even though he was absolutely right. Though I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“Says the man with a nude drawing of himself,” I threw his own words back at him, and immediately regretted them. I was not interested in hearing his half-hearted excuses for why he had changed his mind. Several times this week, Mor had told me, _I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why he hasn’t messaged you_ , despite my insistence that it didn’t matter to me. I ignored that thought. There was no way that beautiful nude models in perfectly tailored dress clothes would hold any interested in someone like me. _Could_ hold any interest in someone like me. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I was beyond caring at this point. At least, that’s what I told myself.

At my retort, his expression changed. Smug amusement was replaced by what might have been guilt. “Actually, um…” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I lost your drawing. That’s why I never called you.”

Oh. _Oh_. Mor’s words resonated in my mind. _I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason why he hasn’t messaged you_. Instantly, heat rushed into my face, and I held tight to my composure, which had begun to fray in light of this revelation. I felt a little ashamed that I had immediately assumed the worst of him. Even stronger than my guilt, though, was the newfound hope that bloomed in my chest - I hadn’t realized how much I had wanted him to like me, whether I admitted it to myself or not.

Not a moment too soon, the bartender slid me my drink, and I accepted it, glad to have something to do with my hands. He seemed to be waiting for a response, so I smiled innocently and said, “Oh? I would have thought you’d have it framed.”

A flicker of what might have been relief appeared on his face, but it was gone in an instant. He chuckled, a dark, soft sound, all traces of embarrassment gone. I told myself the heat in my core was the alcohol starting to kick in before remembering that I hadn’t had a sip yet. “I thought about it, Feyre darling, but then I couldn’t carry it around with me and admire your handiwork.” He looked pointedly at my ink and paint-stained hands, which were gripping my drink tightly, and then swept his violet gaze up and down my body, taking in Mor’s carefully put-together outfit and stripping me bare. _Was_ this _why she dressed me up?_ I fought back against the blush creeping into my cheeks under his scrutiny. From the way his lips tugged up at the edges and his gaze lingered on my face, I doubted it had worked.

“Careful, Rhysand. You’re drooling.”

Lifting a perfect eyebrow, he said, “I don’t drool. And call me Rhys.”

A vague recollection of the same request made on that first class came back to mind. _Rhys_. “Fine. Rhys, you’re drooling.”

His piercing eyes twinkled with mischief, and his roving gaze finally settled on my wine-coloured lips. _It makes every outfit better_. Cursing Mor for her dark blue dress and red lipstick and doing my best not to shrink away from his heated gaze, I leveled a stare at him and cocked my head. “So does that mean you want another drawing? After all, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the _fantastic view._ ”

“Hm,” he tapped his chin pensively, deliberating. Pursing his lips as if deep in thought, he narrowed his eyes at me as if to say, _what is it_ you _want?_ I didn’t know, exactly; all I knew was that I wanted him. In more ways than one. He was drawing this out, making me wait for his response - no doubt enjoying watching me squirm - and he knew it. _Prick_.

An idea surfaced. Shrugging indifferently, I made to walk away but, as I suspected, he placed a hand on my shoulder, rooting me in place and sending sparks dancing under my skin. A slow smile spread across his face, and I held his stare, disregarding the fire kindling in my belly.

Leaning in close, he whispered, “The lighting in my bedroom is _much_ better, I think.” The warmth of his breath in my ear sent a shiver spider-walking down my spine. “Or would you rather paint, instead?” His sensual smile brought me back to the end of class that day, to his parting words, and it left an uncomfortable ache between my legs. _I’m looking forward to seeing what else you can do with paint, Feyre darling._ I willed myself not to dwell on that. Now was _not_ the time to think about what it would be like to trace his tattoos with…

“Feyre darling, you’re _drooling_ ,” Rhys crooned, flashing me a shit-eating grin, no doubt relishing the excuse to parrot my own words back at me. But it shook me out of my trance. Realizing that I was still staring at his chest, I looked up, directing a half-assed glare at him. His smile widened. _Checkmate_. I sighed - he knew he’d won.

“ _Prick_.”

“Come on, Feyre darling. Surely I’m not _that_ bad. Besides, you’ve got more creative insults than that. How about… ‘you’re the _second_ most beautiful creature to ever walk this earth’?”

“That’s hardly an insult,” I responded, attempting to look down my nose at him despite the fact that he was easily a head taller than me.

“Ah, but there’s some truth in it,” he said with the air of a philosopher explaining their most epiphanic theory. “After all, you easily surpass me in beauty.” I gaped at him, not having expected the compliment. _Did he mean it?_

“Yes, I meant it.”

“How-”

“Darling, your thoughts are written all over your face, and they’re not particularly hard to read. But I do wonder, what would you say if I asked you to dinner tomorrow night?”

“She’d love to!” a cheery voice piped up from behind me. Yelping in surprise, I whirled around to see Mor grinning from ear to ear with an unmistakably triumphant look on her lovely face. I decided I’d had enough of being startled that night.

I turned back around to face him, ignoring the way the rays of light from the crystal chandeliers reflected in his eyes, such a depthless blue that they looked violet. He was beaming - a glorious, dazzling thing - as if I had been the one to agree to the date… date? Was he asking me on a date? _Of course he is, you fool. Now say something before-_

“Fantastic,” his silken voice slid across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6:30. Dress nice,” he added, almost as an afterthought, the ghost of a laugh in his deep voice. Then he turned and sauntered gracefully over to our table, where Cassian and Azriel appeared to be deep in conversation.

“She’ll be there!” Mor chirped to his retreating form.

And all the pieces clicked into place. The gorgeous outfit. The red lipstick. Mor and Azriel’s silent conversation. _Probably at the bar. Dress nice._

They’d _planned_ this.

Keeping this silent discovery to myself, I shook my head, cursing my own cluelessness. Mor’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, briefly interrupting my warring thoughts, and she looked at me and said, “You’re welcome. Again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked incredulously. She _knew_ how much my belief in Rhys’s indifference had been eating at me, so I didn’t understand why she’d kept this a secret. It didn’t make any sense.

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise! Besides, you should have seen the look on your face. Absolutely priceless. Or Rhys’s face, for that matter. When he first saw you at the bar, his jaw practically hit the floor.”

I blinked, looking down appreciatively at Mor’s glittering blue dress hugging tight to my body, accentuating my curves and making my bare legs look even longer. “How long have you known that he…” I trailed off, not knowing how, exactly, to phrase what I was asking. Not even really knowing _what_ I was asking.

“Last night. After seeing you disappointed like that, seeing how you reacted when you thought he’d texted you, I took matters into my own hands,” she said gravely, and I fought the urge to laugh at her tone of voice, laden with importance and responsibility. “After you went to bed, I called him, prepared to tear him a new one for standing you up like that-”

“He never actually asked me out, Mor. He didn’t stand me up,” I argued, though it had felt like he had.

“It doesn’t matter. No one makes you feel like that without my permission, not even my cousin. _Especially_ not my cousin, and _especially_ not when you’re hopelessly in love with him.”

Opening my mouth to interrupt, I promptly shut it, waiting for her to finish her story. My interest had piqued when she used the words _tear him a new one_.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she continued, “I called him and demanded that he justify his idiocy in not messaging you immediately, and he explained that he had misplaced your drawing, and thus, your number. I decided that that was a good enough excuse. Barely, but still. I was going to offer to give him your number, but I figured this alternative would be more fun. Besides, I loved getting the chance to see you nail his balls to the wall.”

I burst out laughing, not having the heart to correct her, given that he had most certainly come out on top after our exchange. I did get in some choice jabs, though. The thought brought a smile that was borderline smirking to my lips as I recovered from my fit of laughter.

“So congratulations, _Feyre darling_ ,” she lowered her voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation of Rhys’s voice, “you’ve got yourself a date.”

“Just how long _were_ you eavesdropping on our conversation?” I asked suspiciously.

“Well, you certainly wouldn’t make a good spy, that’s for sure. The boys were laughing themselves hoarse watching me tiptoe behind you.”

“You heard the _whole thing?_ ” I said, aghast. Partly because I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t noticed that she was tailing me the whole time, partly because she had been privy to a conversation that I had thought would stay between me and Rhysand. _Rhys_.

She smirked, a perfect replica of her cousin’s, and I again marvelled at the similarities between them, despite the vast differences in their appearances.

“Oh, don’t look so put out. You did great. I’ve seen women who didn’t even last a whole minute before they were out of comebacks. Or who just settled for trying to touch him until he forgot what he was saying. I don’t think I need to tell you how often that worked.”

I ventured a guess. “Never?” I raised an eyebrow sardonically.

“Smart girl. Although given the way he was ogling you, you might have been able to get away with it, if you hadn’t been equally matched in terms of wit. You definitely gave him a run for his money.” My mind again jumped back to figure-drawing class. _You know he was ogling you as much as you were ogling him, right?_ How was it that everyone had noticed but me?

“Come on, let’s go home. You need your beauty rest if you want to look perky tomorrow for your date,” she added with a wink.

“I’m never perky, Mor,” I smiled wryly, finally taking a sip of my neglected drink, which had gone lukewarm, the ice having melted minutes ago. She grinned devilishly in response.

“Alright, let me try again. You need your beauty rest if you want to look sexy tomorrow and charm Rhys’s pants off.” I choked on my drink, garnering several concerned looks from nearby partygoers, and Mor laughed herself silly as I hacked up a lung. She led me, sputtering, out the door of Tarquin’s estate into the cool night.

A crisp breeze fluttered across my skin, which was damp with sweat, and I moaned indulgently. I hadn’t realized how hot it had been in there. Or maybe it was just me. From Mor’s amused expression, I was guessing the latter.

“Come on now, there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow.” My eyes widened, and although we both knew exactly what Mor was implying, I had to fight not to think about it, lest I forgo beauty sleep in favour of… other things. Things that would become necessary if I lingered on the thoughts of all of the ways Rhys could make me moan…

Fucked - I was fucked. So much for beauty sleep. Climbing into her car, I squeezed my thighs together for the entire duration of the ride, trying desperately to relieve the persistent, merciless ache throbbing between them. For once, I was grateful for her speedy driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Tell me what you thought, and come join me on Tumblr!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sinning, but still :) I hope you enjoy!

_I was sitting behind my easel, wearing nothing but a small, silk dressing gown, and Rhys was sprawled on my bed as I painted him in painstaking detail. As I tidied up some of the imperfections, he rolled off of the bed in all of his naked glory and prowled towards me. Before I could protest, he scooped me up and carried me to the bed, paintbrush still in hand. **  
**_

_Amused, I painted a yellow mustache on his face, and he snatched the paintbrush from me as he lowered me onto the mattress. “Ah ah ah, that’s not how you use a paintbrush.”_

_“Enlighten me, then,” I said, smirking, and he pulled the tie on my dressing gown, letting it fall open and baring me to him. The glob of paint from the brush was cold for a moment before he began painting big, sweeping strokes across my stomach, around the swell of my breasts, leaving nascent fire in its wake._

_“Like that,” he whispered._

_I squirmed as the coarse bristles tickled my body, and he placed an arm across my chest, pinning me to the bed as the paintbrush spiralled lower, up and down my thighs, not quite touching where I wanted - needed - him to. Then he set it down, and my breath hitched when he started swirling the paint covering my body with his fingertips. He drew lazy circles and swirls across my skin, travelling ever downward until he reached the juncture between my legs, hovering over it. “Now let’s see what_ I _can do with paint, Feyre darling,” he purred, before he finally…_

I was violently startled awake by the sound of my doorbell buzzing obnoxiously. Absurdly, I thought it might be Rhys, before I checked my phone and realized it was 8 in the morning. _Mor, then_.

Rubbing my legs together, I tried - and failed - to shake off the remains of my dream. Cursing Rhys and his stupid face and his stupid, beautiful body, I rolled out of bed on wobbly legs and trudged to the door.

When Mor had dropped me off at home last night, I had sprinted up the five flights of stairs to my apartment, and by the time I had shucked off the skin-tight dress and collapsed into bed, my legs were sore for an entirely different reason. No thanks to Rhys, I had completely abandoned the notion of beauty sleep.

“Good morning!” she trilled, and I winced. I was _not_ a morning person. At least, not that morning. “So, how’d you sleep?” she asked, a mischievous gleam in her brown eyes. When I didn’t answer the question, she doubled over in a fit of giggles and I glared at her.

“What?” I demanded. Chuckling, she looked pointedly down at my legs, still squeezed together in a fruitless attempt to relieve the throbbing between them, left over from the ill-timed dream.

She let out a dramatic sigh. “Go have a shower. I’ll wait.”

Needing no further encouragement, I made haste to the small washroom, all but tore my pyjamas off, and took a very productive shower.

 

* * *

 

After changing into a soft, knit sweater and warm leggings, I walked into the kitchen to find Mor eating a bowl of cereal and perusing the books lying abandoned on the counter. When she looked up at me, likely looking a lot better than I did when she got here, she chuckled knowingly before turning back to her breakfast. I toweled off my wet hair and messily braided it before rummaging through the nearly empty cupboards and, finding few options, settled for toast.

“So, not that I don’t love seeing you,” I commented as I put the bread in the toaster, “but what are you doing here this early?”  

Mor raised a perfect eyebrow and replied, “Because I knew you’d never have gotten up if I didn’t intervene.” She was probably right; what with the complete lack of sleep and the unfortunate product of what little sleep I did get, I would probably have woken up just in time for the date. _Date_. I was going on a date. With Rhys. I wondered if that, too, had just been a dream.  

“Also,” she added, “I’m taking you shopping.” I opened my mouth to interject, but before I had the chance to argue, she went on, “You can’t always borrow my clothes. I mean, you’re always welcome to, but you need some nice dresses and fancy clothes for yourself.”

“Mor, I know what you mean but I can’t afford ‘fancy clothes.’” I gestured to my no-longer-white sweater and my battered runners. _Dress nice. Couldn’t Rhys have asked for something… easier?_

“Don’t worry about that,” she waved her hand dismissively, “I’ve got it all sorted out.”

“You’re not pay-”

“No no, I just know how to shop,” she interrupted with a wink. “I found this great place the other day - you’ll love it. Now come on!” Sighing in defeat, I ate my toast quickly, grabbed my purse, and let her lead me on whatever adventure she had planned for us.

 

* * *

 

After a jarring ride that was - as usual - much too fast for my liking, Mor finally pulled into a parking lot in a quaint, almost quiet part of the city. I had never been here before, and I didn’t recognize any of the shops or streets, but it was lovely, especially mid-autumn. Red and gold leaves littered the cobblestone walkways, and fairy lights were strung across the trees that lined the pathways. Even in broad daylight, I could tell that this place would be utterly enchanting once the sun set. I resolved to return here at some point.

I followed Mor through the decadently decorated courtyard, and we stopped in front of a small boutique. Anxiety set in when I saw the mannequins in the window. Some were draped in gowns with luxurious silken fabric, some studded with colourful jewels, others embroidered with iridescent gold or silver thread. All were magnificent and unfathomably lovely, but no doubt well beyond my budget.

As we walked in the door, we were greeted by a smiling woman with smooth, chocolate brown skin and thick black hair that curled tightly to her head. She was wearing a pretty orange frock, embroidered with golden leaves and silver trees along the hemline. Perfect for fall.

“Welcome to Velaris! How may I help you?”

“We’re looking for something for my friend here, who’s going on a date tonight!” Mor said cheerily, sharing a joyful smile with the woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties.

“Well I hope you have a lovely time, dear,” she beamed at me. “Where will you be going?”

“I don’t-”

Mor leaned forward and whispered something in the shopkeeper’s ear, and her smile widened.

“Oh, I have just the thing! My name is Sidra, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” I responded, getting more nervous by the moment as I looked around at the racks upon racks of gorgeous clothing. The quality of the materials alone betrayed their value, which my meager paycheck would not nearly be able to cover. I wasn’t sure I would even be able to afford a pair of socks in this store.

Oblivious to my silent panic, Sidra led me and Mor past shelves of tailored trousers and men’s suits to an area at the back, where a myriad of beautiful dresses were displayed. I gasped. The area was awash with endless colours and textures, from short, elegant dresses in varying shades of blue silk, to long, flowing gowns of dark purple velour, studded with tiny crystals. Oh, how I would love to paint these. I could spend forever cataloguing the colours of the different materials, trying to replicate the shimmering tulle and soft satin on canvas until the sun set and rose and set again.

Sidra placed a hand gently on my shoulder. “Any one of these should suit you just fine, dear.” Then, as if approaching a sleeping child, I walked slowly to the array of mannequins, taking them all in. Intrigued, I ran my fingers through the soft red cloth of a particularly scandalous dress. I smirked, wondering what Rhys would think if he saw me in this, but my face fell when I remembered my predicament. No money, no dress.

“No, not that one,” Mor proclaimed, and took my hand, directing me to another mannequin. The dress adorning it was made of a rich, lush material that looked black, but, upon closer inspection, was actually a deep blue. As I caressed the fabric, I heard Mor ask Sidra, “Could she try this one on, please?”

“Of course,” answered the woman, before ducking behind the mannequin to grab a dress from the rack behind it. After a few moments of rustling through the plethora of black gowns, she exclaimed, “Aha!” before coming back out and handing me the garment.

“The changing rooms are this way, dear.” Sidra pointed towards a curtained off area with plush, leather settees peppered around for friends and critics, and we made our way there, occasionally stopping to examine a skirt or a top or a pair of shoes.

When we arrived, I stood uncertainly in front of the curtain, examining the dress in my hands and debating feigning illness so I wouldn’t have to explain why I didn’t want to try on the magnificent dress. Mor came up behind me and said quietly, “Try not to worry about that right now and have some fun. Trust me, it’s not so bad. Now go!” She smiled at me before giving me a light shove through the curtain, and I laughed. Her enthusiasm was making it harder and harder to stay stressed out about money. If I was here, I might as well enjoy it.

I drew the curtain shut before stripping off my leggings and taking off my sweater. Gently, so as not to rip the rich fabric, I pulled the dress on over my head, adjusting is as it fell around my hips.

I turned around to look at myself in the mirror, and when I saw my reflection, my jaw fell.

The dress was long, cascading down to stop above my ankles, and despite the neckline just grazing my collarbone and the short, capped sleeves, the dress was anything but matronly, leaving next to nothing to the imagination as it hugged every curve and sweep of my body before lying loosely around my legs. A slit cut up the side, almost criminally high, stopping right before the top of my thigh, allowing plenty of space for free movement. The starring feature, however, was the back of the dress. Starting at my shoulders, my back was completely exposed through a web of delicate black lace which extended all the way down my lower back to a sharp point. Despite my messy hair and lack of proper shoes, it looked _amazing_. Shocking, but unlike anything I had ever seen - or worn - before.

Steeling myself for Mor’s undoubtedly enthusiastic reaction, I drew the curtain aside and stepped out. I didn’t see her immediately, but then I heard a high-pitched squeal, and I only had a split second to brace myself before she barrelled into me.

Mor grabbed my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, and examined me. Apparently satisfied, she grinned and laughed, “Oh fuck. Rhys is screwed.”

Right. “Are you sure this isn’t a little _too_ fancy? I mean, I know you said I needed _fancy clothes_ , but I’m going…” I realized I didn’t actually know where Rhys was taking me. It had all happened so fast. “Where exactly am I going?”

Smiling wryly, Mor simply shook her head as if to say, _like I’d tell you._ “Take my word for it - you’re not overdressed at all.” Despite my trepidation, I trusted her to tell me the truth, so I looked at myself in the mirror one more time, and I couldn’t help a small smile. It _was_ a nice dress.

“Alright!” Mor exclaimed, “Let’s go pay, and then you can go get ready!” _Shit_. My face fell, and I remembered the reason for my anxiety in the first place. Trying not to let it get to me - I’m sure I could borrow one of Mor’s dresses after all - I went to change back into my clothes. As I gently removed the dress, I noticed the handmade price tag, pinned to one of the shoulders, and I took a look.

My eyes widened. It really wasn’t expensive at all. More than affordable, even for me. Unbidden, a smile spread across my face, and I gently folded the dress before coming out of the changeroom.

Grinning, Mor practically skipped over to me and said, “So, what did you think? You’re obviously getting it, right?”

“I love it, but Mor… are you sure this is the right price?” I still couldn’t believe how inexpensive the lovely garment was; it seemed far more likely that it was mislabeled, as much as I would like to believe otherwise.

“That’s right, dear.” Sidra walked out from behind a rack of flowing tops that she had been reorganizing. Beaming at me, she checked the tag for good measure and nodded affirmatively.

“But how…” I trailed off. Everything in this store looked designer. How could it be that even _I_ could afford these clothes, when I was practically living paycheck to paycheck?

“All of my life, I’ve wanted to make clothing,” Sidra began, “to design lovely things that anyone could wear and feel beautiful in. So when I opened this store almost two years ago, I was elated, even though at first, I could barely pay the rent, let alone my wares, which are very expensive to make.” I didn’t doubt it, given the sumptuous materials used to craft her clothing.

“Two months in, despite all of the work I’d put into it, I was near bankruptcy. I thought I was going to lose everything I had worked for, but last year, this man walked into my store and said he was looking for a suit. So I measured him, and I worked all week tailoring it and designing it to his specifications. When I gave it to him, he thanked me profusely; what he paid for that suit alone was enough to put food on the table for an entire week.” I knew that feeling, and my heart ached for the woman.

“A few days later, I received a letter from… well I don’t exactly know, but I’m almost certain it was from him. It’s all anonymous and I still don’t know his name but… he must have liked the suit so much he decided to sponsor my work.” Pride shone on Sidra’s face, and I smiled.

“He says the cheques will keep coming every month. Insists on it, really. So, in return for his kindness, now that I can afford to do so, I’ve priced all of my clothes as low as I can manage in order to keep the shop running and, even so, I’m still more than cared for thanks to that man.” I smiled at her story, happy that someone had bestowed their kindness on this generous, talented woman.

“I told you I know how to shop,” Mor sang, and I smiled. I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed today. Or without an empty wallet. 

So ten minutes later, clutching a pair of sparkly black heels, a silver clutch, and a gorgeous new dress, we made our way out of Velaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought, and come join me on Tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting to the date! I hope you like this chapter; I had a lot of fun writing it!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Mor whined, her gold-flecked eyes big and pleading. After shopping, we had gone out to lunch at a small restaurant near the boutique, and spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the courtyard, window shopping and admiring the autumnal splendor. By the time we had arrived back at my apartment, only an hour or two remained for me to get ready before my date; and though Mor offered to help me get ready since we were now fairly pressed for time, I declined. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, but some part of me wanted to do this last step on my own.

“I’ll be ok,” I assured her. “I’ve still got plenty of time, and I’m _not_ going to chicken out at the last minute.” I gave her a significant look.

“Good, because I’d have to kill you if you did after all this.” She smirked her challenge at me, and I chuckled. _Kill me indeed._ Arching an eyebrow, I gave her a dramatic once-over - all five feet and two inches of pure menace - and she frowned. “I could kick your skinny ass if I wanted to, and don’t forget it,” she warned, her wry smile effectively ruining her warrior facade.

Mor’s playful threats were unnecessary, though, as I really wasn’t going to change my mind to begin with. Apart from the fact that I wasn’t the kind of person who would do that, I was actually quite looking forward to tonight. If only because it would be something new. Something… exciting.

“Alright, I get it. I’ll die a painful death if I bail on Rhys.” His name rolled off my tongue, pleasant and sweet, and left me feeling like I had been waiting to taste it all my life - taste _him_ all my life. But now was not the time for such thoughts - not with the limited time that I had to ready myself for the coming evening, not to mention the fact that I had only just met the man. Butterflies were already kicking up a fuss in my stomach, equal parts in anticipation and anxiety, but I paid them no heed. _Calm the hell down._

Apparently satisfied, Mor embraced me and said, “Have a good time, Feyre. Try to relax, don’t let him pull any moves on you, and wear protection.” She looked positively devilish as she added that last bit, and I rolled my eyes.

Choosing wit over incredulity, I winked and said, “He’s got no clue what’s coming his way.” Mor giggled, glancing towards the spoils of today’s visit to Velaris. _Ironic_ , I thought, _since neither do I, really._ Mor had given me no inkling as to what her cousin had planned for the night, despite my insistence that I would enjoy it more if I knew what I was getting into. She hadn’t budged.

Kissing me on the cheek, Mor turned gracefully to leave the apartment before exclaiming, “Oh!” Grinning impishly, she reached into her purse and handed me a small package wrapped in pink and white tissue paper. Cocking an eyebrow at her, I tore it open, loosing a long-suffering sigh when I beheld the lacy, deep blue bra and matching delicate panties sitting on the thin, torn paper.

“Mor,” I began warily. I hadn’t… been with anyone in that way in months, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready or not. Surely Mor knew...

“This isn’t for Rhys,” she said adamantly before going on, “and you can’t tell me that there’s a single woman anywhere in the world who doesn’t feel better when they leave the house wearing matching underwear. But between you and me, you wouldn’t even need those to get in his pants. He looked like he wanted to _devour_ you the other night.” My jaw dropped, eyes widening in combined disbelief and shock at her uncensored comment. Flicking her eyebrows up as if to say, _it’s true_ , she squeezed my hand, which was still gripping the lingerie, and chirped, “Have fun, Feyre!” before leaving me to dress and preen and prepare by myself.

As I stooped down to pick up my shopping bag, I wondered where in the gods Rhys was taking me, based on the little information I had been given. Apart from a gala or a ball - neither of which I suspected he had planned for the evening - I was at a loss.

But regardless of the destination, regardless of the slight fear the unknown, I was uncharacteristically excited. Going on dates had not been something that I had been particularly inclined to do lately, especially since my last break-up, which had drained the life out of me and quelled any joy I might have had both near the end of the relationship and the first months after our separation.

This, though. For the first time in a long time, I felt ready for something new. And this man, though I knew nothing about him, was… intriguing. I had the vague sense that I was meant to get to know him better - that this would be good for me. Though whether it was Rhys specifically or just the prospect of a new relationship or a night out was unclear. There was something about him though, something that felt… oddly right.

There would be time to figure that out later. So, shedding my tattered sweater and well-loved sneakers, I began my makeover.

 

* * *

 

As I sat in front of the dirty, warped mirror in my cramped washroom, I studied the array of cosmetics strewn haphazardly across the counter. Most of them, I noticed, were Mor’s, as she had a suspicious tendency to leave her clothes and makeup behind “accidentally” - usually when I had shown interest in a particular top or shade of eyeshadow. My meager paychecks from working at _Thorns and Roses_ were barely large enough to consistently afford food each week, never mind makeup and new clothing. I smiled a bit, silently thanking Mor for this small kindness, especially when she knew I’d never ask her outright.

Studying my reflection, I tried to envision how I wanted to do my makeup. My coppery hair fell past my shoulders, cascading down my back and curling slightly from having braided it while it was wet. The shades of red streaking through it revealed the secret blues of the dress, if one looked close enough. Given the extravagancy of my outfit, I decided on a minimalistic look, and reached for a black eyeliner pencil; but, as I began to sharpen it, I noticed that it was not, in fact, black, but rather a midnight blue. Rather like my dress. Appreciating the coincidence, I swept a thin, but definitely not modest, line across my eyelid with a steady painter’s hand, then applied a generous coat of mascara.

When I had finished, I thought that something was still missing. I swept an eye over the mess of cosmetics, looking for… _there_. Lying among the various shades of pinks and purples and neutrals, I spotted a stick of cherry-red lipstick. This one was nothing like the deep berry colour I had worn to last night’s party. This one was a screaming red, one that didn’t need to beg to be noticed - didn’t even need to ask politely - but just _was_. Smirking wickedly, wondering what this enigma of a man would make of it (and disregarding the nagging question at the back of my mind: why I cared), I applied the rich shade of crimson to my lips.

Finished at last, I examined my reflection, even standing up and twirling for good measure. The dress was tight enough that the skirt didn’t flare very wide, but it was still satisfying, my long legs visible momentarily as the long slit up the side was thrown open. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this pretty - beautiful, even - and whether or not the date turned out to be a success, I was glad of the excuse to spoil myself for an evening. Mor was right: I didn’t do it enough.

When I checked my phone, the clock read 6:24. _Time to spare_ , I thought with no small amount of triumph. Before I had begun to get ready, I had been certain there would be more uncertainty - more fidgeting and wondering whether or not I looked alright. But there hadn’t been any of that. It was as if I had become a different person once I had slipped on the dark, elegant dress; or maybe I had just needed an excuse to come out of the shell I had shrouded myself in since leaving Tamlin. Either way, I felt confident and sexy, and I decided that it didn’t matter if Rhys didn’t think so.

Perching on the edge of my bed, trying not to wrinkle my dress, I grabbed the shopping bag off of the scratchy carpet floor, extracting the sparkly black heels - surprisingly comfortable despite their formidable height - and slipped them on, fastening the delicate straps around my ankles. Then, although there wasn’t much inside it to begin with, I emptied my purse, transferring its contents into the iridescent silver clutch Mor had insisted was _necessary to complete the ensemble_. After a moment’s thought, I tottered to the bathroom again, retrieved the stick of dangerously red lipstick, and zipped it into the discrete inner pocket in my new purse.

Satisfied that I wasn’t forgetting anything else, I snatched my figure drawing book from its usual spot on the bedside table and flipped through it, admiring my progress. I laughed under my breath at the first picture: my initial nude drawing of Rhys. His angular cheekbones, his pronounced muscles, and his tattoos dancing across his chest all seemed to stare at me, bringing me back to that first day and wondering what he remembered of it. _Probably all of it_ , a little voice whispered in my ear.

As I turned the pages, the drawings became more and more realistic, more like the man himself. The last one that I’d drawn was undoubtedly my favourite. He looked so jubilant, soaring through the air on breathtakingly terrifying wings, like that was where he belonged - not on land with the rest of us. I wondered if he, given the chance, would feel that same way in reality.

The sound of someone knocking on the front door abruptly ended my musings on the matter, and I felt my heart start to beat faster. I took a moment to take a few deep breaths, letting my overexcited heart calm down before I made my way over, leaving my sketchbook open on my bed. Although I was notably unbalanced at first on my new high heels, I’d mastered them by the time I arrived at the front. Relaxing my shoulders and mirroring his unforgettable smirk, I swung the door inwards.

Leaning carelessly against the doorframe with his characteristically arrogant mien was Rhysand. He was dressed impeccably in flawlessly pressed trousers, shiny black shoes, a fitted suit jacket that did nothing to conceal the lean muscle limning his arms, and a dark dress shirt beneath. It was similar to the one he had worn last night, though somehow inexplicably finer. Maybe it was the subtle silver embroidery woven along the collar, not quite drawing the eye, but rather a subtle reminder of the class emanating off of his handsome form. Warmth began to build uncomfortably low in my body, and I tried to shake it off, with partial success. _Relax._ I forced myself to meet his depthless violet eyes, and I made sure I was still smirking when I said, “Good evening, Rhysand.”

“Hello, Feyre darling,” Rhys drawled, meeting my eyes for all of a moment before sweeping his gaze slowly along my body. Down, then up, his eyes widening slightly, before landing on my lips. A nearly unnoticeable pink tinge coloured high in his cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the heat slowly flooding my face, turning it a shade of scarlet likely rivalling my lips. I fought the urge to lick them just to see what he would do.

“You look… delicious,” he purred.

“Aren’t you supposed to take a woman to dinner first before speaking to her like that?” I retorted, lifting an eyebrow and suppressing a pleased shiver.

“I’m planning on it,” he responded smoothly, a mischievous twinkle in his depthless eyes. “You do still want to do this, right? I know Mor… answered for you last night, but I’d like to confirm.” His wry smile melted into a softer one, and I was momentarily struck silent by its beauty, if not also because he was _asking_ me. Actually giving me a choice - something I was admittedly unaccustomed to. It shocked me for a moment how low my standards must have been for me to have considered agency a privilege instead of a right.

Not particularly wanting him to see the thoughts going through my head and mistaking them for hesitation, I flicked my hand toward my body, toward the midnight gown I wore, cocked my hip, and crooned, “Would I be all dolled up if I didn’t?”

He tossed back his head and laughed: a full, rich sound that I hoped I could get him to make again over the course of the night. Taking in my appearance once more, and making my knees quake slightly, he replied, “I’m glad to hear it.” Despite the laughter in his voice, there was relief there as well, and I wondered if he seriously considered it possible that I might have changed my mind. After “ogling” him in class, our shameless flirting, the drawing, and the party, he couldn’t have thought that I wasn’t interested.

“Shall we?” he proposed, offering me his arm, and I chuckled at the comically gentlemanly gesture. As I took it, a wave of warmth coursed through me at the feel of his strong arm under my small hand, and we strode out the door.

Only a moment later, I had to let go of his arm in order to lock the door behind me, and my hand immediately felt cold from the loss of contact. _You’re being ridiculous_ , I silently admonished myself. _You just met him_. So when I turned around and put my keys back in my purse, I didn’t take his arm again, stammering an excuse about how the staircase was too narrow. Which it was, but still. If he took offense, he didn’t show it.

Mid-way down the long descent, Rhys commented, “Wow, this must be why you’re in such good shape. I can’t imagine having to climb these stairs every day.” Blushing slightly, I laughed the compliment off, taking in his own very muscled body. _He_ was in shape, unlike me, given that my slim figure was more related to not having enough food to eat and not having wanted it anyway, rather than a devotion to exercise. Lately, I’d been doing better with the latter, largely because of Mor forcing me to eat, but my shelves were not typically well-stocked, to say the least.

“Trust me, I’d take the elevator if I could,” I conceded, “but I’m pretty sure it’s been broken for at least a year. Maintenance here is virtually nonexistent.” For a complex called _Spring Court Apartments,_ there was nothing particularly beautiful or appealing about it.

We at last reached the bottom of the stairs, and headed out the creaking metal door to the parking lot. Rhys led me through the various beat-up cars and trucks - most residents being no more well off than myself - and I scanned the lot. No Porsche, no Ferrari, no…

“Here we are,” he announced grandly with a sweeping hand motion towards his car. I blinked. It was just an ordinary car, albeit spotless and noticeably well-maintained. Furrowing my brow, I looked closer, seeing if I recognized the car company. Maybe it was the newest model or a company I’d never heard of, but I couldn’t believe that for all of his finery, his car would be so… normal.

Like the gentleman I was beginning to suspect he was under that mask of insufferable arrogance, he came around and opened the passenger side door for me. I tried to climb in as gracefully as I could, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on my bare leg with the motion as it became completely visible through the slit up the side of my dress. I smirked at him, silently saying, _Do you like what you see?_ A feline smile was his response before he closed the door.

As I took a moment to examine the inside of the car, I noted that it was not nearly as unremarkable as the outside. Transfixed, I ran a hand along the seat: leather - _real_ leather. Its scent permeated the air, making everything seem brand new, and I wondered if it was. Like the exterior, everything inside the car was black, from the seats to the steering wheel to the dashboard. _Unsurprising._ There wasn’t a speck of dust or a coffee stain in sight, and it almost seemed as if the car had never been used. But a glance at the driver’s seat, where the leather seat had been rubbed shiny from… (I didn’t let myself think about that particular, well-rounded part of him - not that I’d noticed) led me to believe otherwise.

Rhys opened the car door opposite me, interrupting my assessment, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Not what you were expecting?” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes, having correctly interpreted my mixed bewilderment and awe. Before I could answer, he explained, “I wasn’t going to invest in a Porsche if Mor was going to be driving my car from time to time.” He smirked knowingly in my direction - as I, too, was all too familiar with Mor’s hectic driving - and I smiled back at him, laughing at my friend’s expense. “Although I do have a soft spot for leather.” He stroked the worn seat affectionately, and I wondered what it would be like for him to touch me like that. As if he could hear that traitorous thought, his head snapped to me, and he narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. I betrayed nothing. “I wanted to splurge on that, at least,” he added finally.

“They are really comfortable, and they smell nice,” I observed, not knowing exactly what to say when he was looking at me like that.

He responded with a soft laugh that caressed me as surely as his hand had caressed the smooth leather moments ago. “That they are.”

“So where _are_ you taking me?” I demanded, hoping he would be more forthcoming than Mor had been. But he just started the car, ignoring my question, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth the only indication that he had heard me and was deliberately not answering. Rolling my eyes, I repeated, “ _Where_ are you taking me? Or am I to assume you’re kidnapping me?”

“You did come of your own free will, Feyre darling. I did verify.”

_Fine_. “At least tell me…”

“It will be a good surprise, I promise.” And with that, he shifted gears and pulled us out of the parking lot, taking me wherever it was that nude models took their unsuspecting dates on autumn nights in the city of Prythian.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t been long into the drive before I decided that Rhys driving stick shift may have been the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I also decided that either I could not for the life of me keep a neutral countenance - which I highly doubted after months trying to keep Tamlin happy - or he could read my thoughts. The ride had been mostly silent, partially because I couldn’t stop staring when he changed gear shifts, the muscles in his arm rippling with each movement. Infuriatingly, I often found watching me when I raised my eyes from his hand, a self-assured smirk poised on his lips.

However, my confidence began to wane, anxiety building in its place, as Rhys turned down a road lined on either side with expensive outfitters and fancy restaurants - one of which he turned into, slipping smoothly into a parking space next to what was _actually_ a Porsche.

There was no way I was going to be able to do this. I was _sick_ of not being able to afford things, and I did not want to ruin a date that hadn’t even started yet by-

“Feyre,” Rhys cut off my thoughts that were steadily spiralling down into a panic I was all too familiar with. “What is it?”

“I…” I tried to figure out how to explain to this man, who had likely never lived a day in his life with nothing to eat. Fighting back frustrated, embarrassed tears that were suddenly threatening to make an untimely appearance, I muttered, “I won’t be able to pay for this.”

And gods damn it, his features softened. I didn’t want his pity. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt as he admitted softly, “I can’t pretend to understand what that’s like, or how you must be feeling, and I know you don’t want my charity,” the spark of unbidden ire in my eyes likely told him as much, “but you gifted me a priceless drawing and I, in all of my carelessness, lost it.” Beneath his devastatingly compassionate expression, there was a flicker of humour, and surprisingly, it worked. Some of my humiliation ebbed away, and my mouth barely, _barely_ tugged up at the edges.

“This one’s on me. They won’t all be, don’t worry,” he went on, hands raised in surrender when I opened my mouth to protest, “but consider this an apology for the misplacement of a Feyre Archeron masterpiece.” He winked, and damn me if my heart didn’t warm a bit - equally from the kindness that didn’t feel like pity, and from his contagious sense of humour. Not to mention the fact that he had just admitted that he’d like to go on another date with me. _They won’t all be_. I wondered if it had maybe just slipped out or if he had only said it to make me feel better...

Having been holding his gaze intently, I jumped a bit when his fingers brushed my own. He smiled apologetically before I let him gather my hand in his and squeeze gently, reassuringly. I felt myself smiling back, grateful for his understanding, and enjoying the delightful, electric warmth in his touch.

Too soon, he released my hand to get out of the car, coming around to my side to once again open the door for me. Unusual, this man. Simultaneously a product of his time, abandoning antiquated gender roles as surely as we’ve since abandoned powdered wigs, and all the while exuding chivalry and gentlemanliness without demanding anything in return for it. Looking just as comfortable dressed for a college party as he does now, dressed in a crisp, tailored suit. _And damn if he doesn’t look good in it_ , I thought, and I didn’t much care if he heard my thoughts that time.

Rhys led me into the restaurant, which I saw was called _Sarah’s_ , and I gasped as I beheld the extravagant atmosphere: a high ceiling bedecked in low-lit crystal lights, red velvet seats around polished mahogany tables, and decor that practically shouted _luxury_. I had never seen anything like it before, and I tried not to let my trepidation get to me - that feeling that I didn’t belong here. But I scolded myself the moment that thought entered my mind. _I have just as much right to be here as anyone else_.

Waiting inside the entrance in the shadow of a red velour curtain was a lovely, dark-haired woman, as slender and graceful as a dancer. In the low light, her eyes appeared to be pure black, and I thought she might have been a shadow herself. _She and Azriel would get along_ , I mused. She smiled softly before greeting us, first nodding her head in Rhysand’s direction, then in mine.

“Nice to see you, Nuala,” Rhys said affectionately. A friend, then.

“You must be Feyre,” Nuala said in a gentle, though surprisingly low voice, turning her gaze toward me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied genuinely, returning her smile, before she turned to take two menus from a shelf and bid us to follow her.

Rhys’s hand in mine was a pleasant, warm distraction from my less pleasant thoughts, which were beginning to ebb away, and I imagined the painting I’d like to do of our joined hands: his tan one dwarfing my small, pale one, colours stark against one another. When I looked up from where I’d been staring, I found Rhys looking curiously at me, amusement playing about his mouth.

Embarrassed, I wrenched my hand from his, wincing at how violent the movement was, but he just let out another low laugh and leaned in close to me. “You can take it back any time you like, Feyre darling,” he whispered as we followed the wraith-like woman between tables. “And again, you look lovely.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I returned, trading smirks with him. I marvelled at the fact that I hadn’t even been with this man for an hour, and I already felt… at ease around him. This hadn’t been the case at all when I had first met Tamlin, and not when I had dated other men either, not that I had gone out with very many. Maybe enjoying myself wouldn’t be so hard after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought, and come find me on Tumblr! I cant wait to share the next chapter with you :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, now we get to the good stuff! Not sin just yet, but my bat babies are finally getting to know each other!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! As usual, I hope you enjoy! :)

As we followed Nuala through the dining area, weaving in and out around tables, I took a moment to admire the general splendour. The restaurant was magnificent, and I found - to my relief - that I wasn’t the only one there who was dressed to the nines. Nearly everyone was wearing gowns or suits, and it made me feel as though I was surrounded by movie stars. The thought made me slightly uncomfortable, so I focused back on trying not to trip over my new shoes

When she finally stopped, it was in front of a small mahogany table with a pristine white tablecloth draped across it. A single lit candle glowed in the centre, its flickering orange light dancing on the two sets of fine silverware set on either side. Though the table was big enough that we would both have breathing space, it was still small enough to feel… intimate. Rhys looked at me and motioned to one of the two chairs. _Go ahead, sit._

As I went over to my chair, Rhys followed behind me and pulled it out. I chuckled as I sat down, continually amused by his gentlemanly gestures, and he took a magnanimous bow.  

“Can’t a man be chivalrous these days?” Rhys said, feigning offense at my amusement, as he went around the table and dropped unceremoniously into his own red velvet chair - as if we weren’t in what I suspected to be one of the classiest restaurants in Prythian.

Raising an eyebrow, I gave him a look that said, _Seriously?_  “Chivalrous maybe, but not particularly proper,” I noted, and his smile widened, making my heart flutter a little bit. His natural smile was worlds different from his self-satisfied smirk; it was warm and soft, and it made him look like he was always on the precipice of a laugh.

“My sister, Cerridwen, will be your server this evening,” Nuala informed us before she made her way back to the entrance. I watched her retreating form, lithe and graceful, and was once again wracked with nerves. When was the last time I’d been on a date? Tamlin hadn’t been interested in evenings out after the first month, unless it was to some house party, and I hadn’t _ever_ been to a place like this, even on the rare occasions that I had gone out to dinner. I had no clue what to say, what to do…

“So, we know that you’re Prythian’s finest artist, after myself, of course,” Rhys cut in, and my pointed eye roll hid my gratitude for saving me from trying to come up with something to say.

“I’m definitely not, and we have yet to prove that you are,” I retorted, and I flushed bright red at my words. They’d just slipped out. But his mouth split into a wicked grin.

“I suppose we’ll find out later then, won’t we?” he drawled, mischief in his eyes. My heart started to beat a little faster, and I wasn’t sure if it was in excitement or anxiety. I still didn’t know if I was ready for that just yet, despite how comfortable I was around this man. And how attracted I was to him. Maybe it was just too soon.

But something, hesitation or uncertainty perhaps, must have shown on my face because his face became more serious and he gave me a look that clearly said, _It’s your choice._ I smiled slightly, hoping to diffuse any tension I might have created, but there wasn’t any to dispel. Rhys went on as if it truly didn’t bother him that I might not want to have sex on the first date. _This is new,_ I thought appreciatively, thinking of all the times that I’d been out with men who, after half an hour of pretending to listen to me, expected something from me that I had not been inclined to give. The names I’d been called ranged from awful to unspeakable, so this was a refreshing change.

“How about we start with me, then? Ask me anything you want. I’m an open book.” Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands behind his head and looked expectantly at me. I didn’t miss the way the muscles in his arms rippled with the movement, and I swallowed.

“Alright,” I agreed, but at that very moment, Nuala came gliding back to the table. I looked inquisitively at Rhys, wondering why she was back so soon. But when I met his eyes, he was pressing his lips together in a futile attempt to hide an amused smile.

“Hello, Rhysand,” Nuala said, inclining her head at Rhys. Hadn’t she already greeted us? But then she turned to me and said, “Good evening, I’m Cerridwen, and I’ll be your server this evening.” _Twins_. That made more sense, and I cursed my foolishness at not having figured it out initially. Smiling at her, I introduced myself. Her eyes darted briefly to Rhys before fixing back on me, and I thought I might have seen a twinkle in the shadow-woman’s eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre. Would either of you like something to drink?”

At the same time as I said, “Just water,” Rhys named a wine that I could not have pronounced if I tried, and that I had no doubt was astronomically expensive.

Without a word, Cerridwen nodded and walked away, as swift and elegant as her sister.

Trying to think of something to say, I turned back to Rhys and asked the first thing that came to mind. “How long have you known Cassian and Azriel?”

He choked on a laugh. “Oh gods, it feels like forever. But that’s a long story. Why don’t we order first?” My interest was piqued, having wondered this myself many times. But he was right, and I was hungry, so I passed him a menu and had a look at my own.

Given that the vast majority of the menu items were in French, I didn’t recognize many of them, and I sighed. Another shortcoming. Deciding to make light of it, I admitted, “I took Spanish in high school. Can you help me out?” To my surprise, other than an amused half-smile, Rhys didn’t make fun of me, instead asking me what I was in the mood for and suggesting dishes that sounded best. After a few minutes, I settled for a seafood pasta, and Rhys decided on a _filet mignon,_ which he told me was a particular cut of meat. _Not surprised._

Cerridwen returned a moment later with the wine, which she poured in a fluid, practiced motion, not spilling a single drop. I ordered what Rhys had suggested, completely botching the pronunciation, before Rhys placed his own order, along with an appetizer which he pointedly refused to translate for me. I allowed myself to appreciate the rolling softness of the French words, which, unlike me, he pronounced perfectly. Catching my stare, he grinned.

“I took AP French in high school, and I still remember a few things,” he offered.

“As long as you didn’t order fried octopus or frog legs,” I warned him, unable to keep the laughter from my voice.

Snickering, he murmured, “I guess you’ll have to wait and find out,” and I gave him a look that spelled murder if he had ordered snails or squid.

“Now that the food’s been taken care of, I’ll answer your question. I will warn you, it is quite a long story, so feel free to stop me if you get bored.” I was doubtful that I would, never having asked Cassian or Azriel for details of their childhood, but I nodded anyway and let him begin his story. Their stories.

“When I was seven or eight, Cassian moved into the house next door, and for a while, I _hated_ him.” A soft laugh. “We were constantly getting into fights, and as much as I hate to admit it, which I really do, he usually won. I’d come home with bruises and cuts and the occasional black eye, and I could only get away with so many stupid excuses before my mother got involved.

“She tried to call his parents, to see what was going on, but there was no landline in the house next door. When she went to investigate, she discovered that, well, he didn’t live there. Not really. The family that moved out previously, I guess, hadn’t been able sell it and could afford to abandon it. She found him curled up on the floor, wrapped in a beat-up sleeping bag, with only a few pieces of clothing strewn around and next to nothing to eat. He was living in our spare bedroom the next day, despite his _very_ vehement protests. Eventually, we started getting along, and within a year, we were inseparable.” He smiled, appearing to be lost in memory.

From his easygoing, devil-may-care personality, I never would have guessed that Cassian had experienced something like that and not have let himself become bitter. I nearly was, and at least I had a place to live and some food, if not an excess of it. “What about Azriel?” I asked, hoping his story was less sad.

Rhys huffed a laugh. “Oh that poor bastard. A few years later, he shows up in our neighbourhood: quiet, reserved, taciturn. I’d never met a ten-year-old who was that serious all the time,” he commented, shaking his head. His silken hair fell over his forehead with the action, nearly reaching his eyes, and I fought the urge to reach over and push it back. “So, naturally, Cassian and and I were assholes to him. One day, we pushed him too far, and to both of our surprise, he walloped us. We were both bloodied on the pavement within minutes. Basically, he told us we could fuck off and leave him alone, but, being the persistent shits that we were - are, really - we made friends with him instead.”

Relieved that Azriel’s story had a happier ending, I turned to Rhys, ready to form another question, but his expression went somber, and he hissed softly, “That’s not the end of the story, unfortunately.” His sudden menace, I knew, wasn’t directed at me, but I remained rapt with attention, wondering what had triggered his sudden anger.

“One winter, maybe a month after the three of us joined forces, Cassian and I noticed that, even indoors, Az was wearing mittens. Some of the other kids teased him about it, but he never responded to them. Cass and I thought it might have just been the cold - winters where we grew up were a special kind of freezing - but when we asked him, he wouldn’t tell us. After a good amount of coercion, he took them off, and his hands were _covered_ in bandages.” Rhys winced, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what came next.

“When we asked what the hell happened, he only said that his brothers had decided to have some _fun_ one day.” Murder burned in Rhys’s violet eyes. “He wouldn’t tell us exactly what happened, but when we took him to my mother to treat his hands, she told us they had been burned. _Severely_ burned. While we left her to take care of Az, the two of us exchanged… _words_ with his brothers.” He sneered. “They couldn’t walk for a month. Az mostly stayed with us after that, sharing a room with Cassian.”

The cold hatred faded from his face, and that smirk reappeared as if it had never left. “And the three of us went on to create chaos together for years after that. Now look at us: the three sexiest bastards in all of Prythian,” he stated matter-of-factly, lounging back in his chair and looking for all the world like a king in his castle.

Flicking my eyebrows up, I observed, “You’ve got enough confidence to feed all of Prythian. For a year or two. Haven’t you ever heard of sharing? Or modesty?”

Cocking his head, he replied, “I thought I was sharing with you, Feyre darling. And who needs modesty when you’re as beautiful as me?” He batted his eyelashes in a decidedly feminine way, and I snorted, rolling my eyes. _That man…_

From there, we went on, taking turns asking each other questions. We both talked about our families, albeit briefly; Rhys told me that he had lost his mother and sister at a young age, and I told him about my parents, how I’d lost them both in different ways. But when I brought up my sisters, he suddenly burst out laughing, attracting at once curious and irritated looks from nearby patrons.

“Wait - _Nesta’s_  your sister?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Cassian is _always_ talking about her. ‘Nesta this, Nesta that, do you think she’ll ever like me back?’” I laughed under my breath, disbelieving. How could our lives have both been so closely intertwined, yet we hadn’t met each other until now? I was certainly at a loss, but I couldn’t wait to bring up this particular topic to Cassian. I vaguely remembered Nesta complaining about some “arrogant, hot-headed bastard” who shared some of her classes, and it made infinitely more sense now. Cassian fit that description perfectly.

“I’m ok,” he assured me a moment later, fighting his laughter into submission before I continued.

“So, what do you do?” I asked. Cringing inwardly at my choice of words, I clarified, “I mean, are you in school? Do you work? Any hobbies aside from preening and flirting?” Smirking slightly, he lifted an eyebrow as if to say, _Come on now. That’s all you think of me?_

We shared stories as we dined on the appetizer Rhys had ordered - which was some kind of warm, herbed flatbread - then for another hour until our meals came, and again after that, the conversation never once lulling. I discovered that he’d graduated last year with a double major in business and literature, of all things, and that it was his company that offered its continued support to Velaris. I didn’t think I’d ever respected someone my age this much. By the time the cheque came, which he covered, as promised, I was no longer self-conscious or uncomfortable. I hoped that we’d do this again, though maybe somewhere less formal. _Although,_ I thought, _I’d love the chance to get to wear this dress again._ I didn’t know if I’d ever have occasion to wear it again.

After we’d both finished our glasses of wine, Rhys and I left _Sarah’s,_ my hand back in his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“There’s one more place I’d like to take you,” he whispered, and I shivered as his nose brushed my ear. I knew better than to ask where that was, as neither he nor Mor had been forthcoming at all when I’d questioned them earlier.

“Tell me it’s somewhere other than your place,” I joked, even though I knew he wasn’t trying to pull one on me.

“No, it’s much better than that. I promise.” I could feel him smiling against my ear, and I tried and failed not to think about what would happen if his mouth got any closer. Catching me completely off guard, he blew gently in my ear and I gasped. His quiet chuckle sent a shiver through me, and I glared daggers at him, ignoring the warmth growing in my core. _Not the time._

“Have a good night,” Nuala and Cerridwen said in unison as we stepped outside into the frigid fall air. Night was approaching, and the sky had turned a lush blue, slowly eclipsing the oranges and yellows of the setting sun. Tilting my head back, I catalogued the swaths of colour and resolved to paint it later.

We made our way through the parking lot, and before I got in, I took a moment to admire my reflection in the side of the car. In that moment, I felt truly beautiful, and even though I was wearing clothing fancier than anything I’d ever owned, I still felt like myself. More confident maybe, but I wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than who I was, and the date had still gone well.

As he drove us to wherever he was taking me, I felt considerably more relaxed than I had been on the way to the restaurant. And as my eyes drifted traitorously downwards, I couldn’t help thinking that if he was that good at driving manually, then his hands must be equally good at doing other things. For the first time in awhile, the thought didn’t scare me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him looking at me curiously and I gave him a wry smile.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just looking forward to what comes next,” he replied cryptically, mischief dancing in his striking eyes.

I huffed a laugh. “At least give me a hint,” I implored, no longer worried that it would be an unpleasant surprise, but also unable to staunch my curiosity.

“Fine,” he conceded. “You’ll be glad you wore those shoes. And that dress.” His eyes roved up and down my body, lingering noticeably on my exposed leg.

“Eyes on the road, Romeo,” I said, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as they were warm. But then he turned down another street, lined with trees still flushed with autumn reds and golds and strung with multicoloured fairy lights, and I immediately knew where we were. On my right, I saw Velaris, where the shopkeeper was locking the door behind her. She saw us driving slowly by and she waved, winking at me; and I wondered if she knew that it was her mysterious benefactor who sat in the driver’s seat, or if that was still a mystery to her.

Finally, he turned into a parking space next to the city square. But it no longer looked like the city square that I had seen earlier that day. My jaw dropped.

“Here we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Tell me what you thought, and come find me on Tumblr!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys have just left Sarah's restaurant, and Feyre doesn't think the night can get any better. She's wrong, and the stars in their eyes won't be the only ones out tonight. Here's the second and most anticipated part of their first date :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't posted in awhile, and I am terribly sorry. I've been working really hard on this chapter, and this will be the last one, followed by an epilogue. I've loved writing this story, and I hope you've loved reading it. Thank you guys for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The city square began where the shops ended, the cobblestone street giving way to impossibly lush grass and magnificent oak trees, resplendent in their autumn gold. In truth, it was more of a park than a bustling hive of activity, and it was arguably the most beautiful part of this little utopia. Lampposts stood scattered around the green, shedding their yellow light on wooden benches and casting shadows on the trees around the perimeter. But it was no longer the tranquil, unassuming park that it had been earlier today.

Fairylights shone everywhere, dripping from the red-gold trees like icicles, suspended overhead as they wound through branches and around lampposts. The wide expanse of grass in the middle of the park had been covered with interlocking grey stones, on top of which a cluster of well-dressed people were dancing. Off to the side of the stone floor shone a gorgeous white gazebo with a sunset pink roof; little orbs of multicoloured light hung down from the sides of the roof, appearing to float in mid-air as they shone like jewels against the darkening night. Conversely, the rest of the city had gone dark, and with the plethora of tiny, shining lights illuminating the square, it had become a beacon of starlight.

A shadow suddenly blocked my view of the scene and I scowled, only to realize that the shadow was Rhys, standing in front of the car door and smiling in a way that conveyed both amusement and profound happiness in equal parts. As he opened the car door, he nodded his head towards the square. “Why don’t we go join them?” he suggested. “It might be more fun than staring.” I frowned at him, at the quiet laughter in his voice, but I let him lead me out of the car and towards the revelry.

It was then that I heard the music: a lovely, haunting melody, a lone violin singing mournfully and carrying all the way across the square, calling to me as surely as any summons. I let my eyes flutter shut and swayed in place, almost forgetting where I was as I lost myself in the music. But a moment later, Rhys took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, bringing me back down to earth. “Let’s get closer,” he murmured, and guided me down the stone path to the floor to join the dance.

“What do you think?” Rhys asked quietly as we stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. Beneath the casual timbre of his voice, I detected the barest hint of nervousness as he added, “Too much for a first date?”

“It’s… incredible,” I breathed, completely mesmerized. I had never been to a ball before, and I doubted I ever would again, but I couldn’t imagine anything ever coming close to this night of enchantment. It wasn’t extravagant, and it wasn’t presumptuous—it was just a lovely, naturally beautiful space that had been made even more beautiful. Everyone was enjoying themselves, smiling, twirling to the music, and holding one another close; if romance could be made tactile, this would be the result. And Rhys had been right—I was glad of my new outfit; in my long, midnight gown, I fit right in here among all of these formally-dressed men and women.

I was aware of his hand in mine as I stared onward, afraid that if I so much as moved, the illusion would be shattered and I’d once again be back at home, alone, this having been nothing more than a dream. But nothing disappeared, not even as he faced me and asked, “Would you like to dance?”

I looked into his depthless, star-flecked eyes and smiled softly, tentatively. Words having failed me not for the first time that night, I could only nod as he placed my hand on his arm and led me to the dance floor. And I didn’t flinch or pull away when he placed a gentle hand on my waist, nor when he guided my hand to his shoulder and began to sway to the lilting melody.

We danced through song after song, and we became the music, letting the melodies take us where they would and forgetting the rest. I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, the two of us melting into the music, inching closer and closer together until our chests were nearly touching. I stepped on his toes only once, but it didn’t seem to bother him, a slight twitch of his lips the only indication that he’d even felt it.

After what felt at once like an eternity and no time at all, I spoke. “Thank you. No one… no one has ever done anything like this for me before. This is perfect.”

“Well then, I am honoured to have been the first,” he said simply, something like awe in his voice. He rested his chin on my head, and I closed the space between us, laying my cheek against his chest. And despite the intimacy of our position, it felt like the most natural thing in the world—like two pieces of a puzzle reunited at last, sliding together as only they were meant to.

The song ended, and when a new one didn’t start right away, I peered up at Rhys, who was grinning. I quirked an eyebrow. “Care to enlighten me?” His smile grew, bright and unrestrained. It was glorious, and I thought that I could survive on nothing but that smile forever and never grow tired of it.

“Good choice of words,” was his only response right before all of the thousands of lights above and around us winked out and a sudden hush fell over the crowd. Only the colourful orbs hanging from the gazebo remained alight, washing subtle hues of pink and blue and violet over the faded white wood.

Before I could voice my curiosity, Rhys brought his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Look up.” I did. And my breath caught in my chest. 

A streak of dazzling white light shot across the sky and disappeared over the horizon. Then another. Then another, until the sky was awash with falling stars, cascading over us in a never-ending fall of blue and white rain. My throat tightened—I’d never seen anything this spectacular, this breathtaking. Not from the city, where I'd be lucky if I saw more than a handful of stars on a clear night. I couldn't look away. 

I hadn't realized I'd been crying until Rhys’s thumb came up and swept a tear from my cheek.

“Our date’s going so poorly it brought you to tears?” he joked. “I must be getting rusty in my old age.” Laughter came bubbling out of me as I let him wipe away the tears that had rolled down my cheeks, and I realized that I might very well have laughed more today than I had in a long while. Too long.

Just then, the music started back up—a soft, moving piano melody that reminded me of flowing water, of starlight falling into a pond. He held me close and we began to sway and spin slowly, moving with the music as it ebbed and flowed, as it built from gentle drops of rain into a rushing river of sound, entwined in each other’s arms as if we’d done this a hundred times. And maybe we had in a past life, I thought, because I couldn’t fathom ever having felt so comfortable—so _right—_ with anyone in my life. And this felt utterly right. This felt like home.

“I am… very glad I met you, Feyre,” he murmured into my hair, placing a feather-light kiss on the top of my head. My heart sped up, and with my ear laying against his chest, I could hear his do the same. I stood there, holding onto him as we danced and watched the sea of falling stars, unable to speak and wanting to say so much. _I’m very glad I met you too. I don’t want this night to end. I think I’m falling for you._

As the piano melody came to an end, I felt his eyes upon me, and I tore my gaze from the shooting stars to look at him. The flashes of starlight bathed his face in light and shadows, and a galaxy of stars shone in his eyes. He was beaming, his face lit up with unfiltered joy as he gazed at me. I took my hand from his shoulder and brought it up to touch his face, to touch the starlight on his skin. He felt warm and soft beneath my palm, and I tilted my head up to press a delicate kiss to his cheek.

When I drew back, his eyes were a bit wide, and he stared at me for a moment, frozen. I wondered if I had crossed a line and tried to step back, out of the safety of his arms, but he held me tight to him, bringing me a little closer and resting his forehead on mine. I sucked in a breath as his violet gaze dropped to my painted lips. “Feyre,” he whispered hoarsely, breaking our brief, taut silence. “Can I please kiss you?” I gave him only a moment to read the answer in my eyes before I tipped my head up and captured his lips with my own.

The world fell away as our lips met in a sweet, gentle kiss. My eyes slipped shut, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers slowly sliding up the nape of his neck to run through his silken hair as our mouths moved together. His arms banded around me, holding me closer until there was no space left between us and I could feel the steady, rapid beating of his heart against my chest. This kiss was not rushed or greedy, nor was it the passionate kiss of frenzied lovers; it was a beginning—a promise of much more to come. It was an answer to a question: _Do you want this?_ And between each mingled breath, we gave our answer.

His tongue gently swept along the seam of my lips, and I opened up, deepening the kiss. For all the time that I’d spent staring at his lips, I’d never imagined how warm they’d feel pressed against my own. He tasted like oranges, like summer and salt and moonlight, and his scent washed over me—jasmine laced with citrus and sea salt, like the breeze on a cool summer night. And I thought, in that moment, that I might be content to stay forever in his arms, tasting him, breathing him in, dancing with him under the moonlight with only the stars to bear witness.

When we broke apart, his arms still encircled my waist as my hands came down to hold his broad shoulders; I leaned my forehead against his, not ready to let go of him quite yet. A breathy chuckle passed Rhys’s lips as he met my eyes, his pupils blown so large that only a narrow ring of starry violet remained.  

“What?” I croaked as I caught my breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, his voice hoarse, and I couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across my face. I pressed a quick kiss to his lips, darting back out of his reach before he could capture another one.

“Cheeky,” he drawled, a slow smirk growing on his face before he tugged me back into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“Rhys,” I said, perhaps a bit nervously, which was absurd after what we’d just done. “Can I tell you something?”

His expression softened, and his midnight eyes pierced mine. “Anything.”

I bit my lip and hesitated only a moment before saying, “I might like you a little bit,” with a shy, teasing smirk.

“Well you know what?” he challenged. “I think I like you too, just a little.” He smirked back, eyes gleaming.

We’d been so wrapped up in each other that I hadn’t notice that the music had stopped playing. People had begun to leave the park and head home, and there were only a few remaining stars tumbling through the sky. I hadn’t realized how tired I'd become, and I swayed unsteadily in Rhys's arms, though no longer to music.

“Why don’t I take you home?” he proposed, smiling amusedly. I didn’t want to leave this place—leave _him—_ but... _there will be other nights,_ said a little voice in the back of my head. So I nodded—then yelped in surprise when he swept me up into his arms without warning, cradling me to his chest. Rhys’s arm slid under my knees, the other wrapping around my back, and I relaxed into his hold; and I might have let myself fall asleep there if the car hadn’t been so close. Regardless, he carried me the entire distance, only letting go of me to lower me down into the passenger seat before he went around to the other side to slip into his own seat.

We drove home under a blanket of sleepy silence, and as the dormant city passed us by, I let my mind wander. And I found myself once again in the city centre, dancing in Rhys’s arms, the stars above us flying like a thousand arrows unleashed across the sky; my head resting on his chest as his scent enveloped me; I saw the reverence in his eyes when he looked at me—like I was precious, beautiful; I once again felt that softest kiss, a question and an answer and a promise uttered between our every shared breath. And I found myself dreaming of the man sitting beside me—the man crafted from night itself with hair like liquid darkness and eyes that glittered with starlight. The smirking, sarcastic nude model with the secret heart of a romantic who’d seen something in me that I hadn’t, and who’d accepted me as I was before the elegance and the splendor. The man who had, in such a short amount of time, completely stolen my heart.

“Feyre…” Distantly, I heard Rhys’s voice floating towards me, and I cracked open an eye. He stood before me, holding the car door open, and I could tell he was fighting back laughter as I shook off the sleepiness, muttering something incoherent about not wanting to move. Still, I took his proffered hand and he helped me out of the car, steadying me as I wobbled on aching legs. He had to catch me a few times as I tripped over my heels, grabbing me before I ate pavement. After the third stumble, he snorted and scooped me up, then carried me up the several flights of stairs, right to the door of my apartment.

“We have arrived,” he announced grandly as he gently lowered me to the ground, not letting go of my hand even once I had steadied myself. I thought about inviting him inside, about what that would mean, but I still wasn’t ready to take that next step, no matter how much I liked him. We were also both exhausted, and this wouldn’t be the last time I that saw him. I smiled to myself.

Once again, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, and I saw the understanding in his eyes as he kissed my forehead and said, “Goodnight, Feyre darling.”

Placing my hands on his shoulders for balance, I lifted my head and stole a kiss from him. He snorted. “Just can’t get enough of me, can you?”

 _No,_ I thought. Instead, I retorted, “ _There’s_ that modesty. I was sure you’d lost it.”

He smirked at me, lifting a brow archly. _Never._  He kissed me one last time, our foreheads touching as our lips met. Staring intently into my eyes, inches from his own, he whispered, “I will see you very soon, I hope.” Then winked at me.

“Goodnight, Rhys,” I crooned, before retreating into my apartment, looking at him over my shoulder and not breaking his stare until the door closed between us. Slumping against the door, I let out a sigh, grinning wildly—and jumped out of my skin as something tiny and forceful collided with me, squealing. _Mor._

 _“How was it how was it how was it!”_ Shaking my head, I pried her off of me and turned to appraise her. I laughed under my breath. She was wearing a pair of my pyjamas, and I could hear the TV playing in the background. She must have waited up for me. 

When I didn’t answer her right away, she glared at me expectantly; but I couldn’t find the words to explain how surreal it had been. “It was unlike anything I’ve… it was… it was incredible,” I stammered as a blush crept up my cheeks, and I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. Mor squeaked again.

“Feyre’s in love with Rhys! Feyre’s in love with Rhys!” she chanted in a childlike, singsong voice and I shoved her, laughing.

“Go to bed. It's past your bedtime,” I teased. 

“Ok,” she responded, more acquiescent than I had expected, before running into my room and ripping a blanket off my bed. She sent a forlorn expression my way as she walked to the couch and collapsed in a heap on top of it, tucking a pillow under her head and wrapping the blanket around her. I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Come here. Help me get this stuff off.” Grinning triumphantly, she gracefully rolled off the couch and grabbed my hand, all but dragging me into my room before she got to work peeling off my dress and carefully washing off my makeup. Once she was done, she threw a pair of pyjamas at me and burrowed into my bed.

Thankfully, Mor was tiny, but it was still a bit of a tight squeeze when I climbed in beside her; I didn’t mind though—it was nice having someone to sleep with again.

The bed dipped down as she rolled over to face me, smirking fiendishly. "Tell me  _everything._ "

And I did. She was rapt with attention from start to finish—from the moment he picked me up to the moment he dropped me off (quite literally). When I finished my story, my cheeks were warm and ached a little bit from smiling, and Mor was grinning at me, pride and delight filling her chocolate brown eyes.

"I'm so happy for you," she said emphatically, nudging me with her bare foot. I winced—it was freezing.

"Thanks, Mor. And thanks for... you know, inviting him that first day." I smiled wryly. Memories of sketchbooks filled with nude drawings of Rhys swam into my mind, and Mor snickered as if she could see the thoughts going through my head. 

"Anytime." And I could again see the resemblance between them as she winked at me, that familiar half-smile now perched on her full lips instead of his. 

I yawned, my eyelids growing heavy as exhaustion finally caught up to me, and Mor, without waiting for confirmation, reached over and shut off the bedside lamp. Darkness and silence fell over the room, and I took care to avoid her feet as we both lay down to sleep.

Not even a full minute passed before that silence was broken.

A titter, then, “Goodnight, _Feyre darling.”_ Mor's imitation of Rhys was unnervingly accurate, and my heart sped up involuntarily; I frowned and elbowed her, which only resulted in more giggling on her part. I tried in vain not to laugh along with her—failing miserably—and it was only after we hit each other several times with our pillows that we finally stopped to catch our breath, calming down. Our giggles slowly subsided, and the room again went quiet as we got comfortable; I made sure to elbow Mor again before we both finally settled down to sleep. 

But a few minutes later, the bed started shaking as Mor convulsed with silent laughter. And when I pinched her side, she jerked away, but didn't stop laughing as she whispered, _"Feyre's in love with Rhys."_ I considered shoving her off the bed, but... she wasn't completely wrong.

When, at last, the room fell silent, I released a contented sigh and closed my eyes. "Goodnight, Mor."

 

* * *

 

I tried to fall asleep—I really did; but after half an hour laying wide awake, I finally gave up. I carefully crawled out of bed and grabbed my phone from my clutch before snuggling back next to Mor, who was fast asleep. There was one message waiting for me.

Rhys, 11:58pm: **Let’s do that again sometime, shall we?**

Under the cover of darkness, Mor sleeping soundly beside me, I allowed myself just a moment of quiet, elated laughter.   

Feyre, 12:10pm: **I’d like that.**

Feeling a little more tired now that sleepy contentment had replaced my ecstatic joy, I locked the screen; I was just about to put my phone away when I changed my mind, smirking and opening it back up.

Feyre, 12:10pm: **On one condition.**

Not a moment later, he texted me back.

Rhysand, 12:11am: **Oh, and what would that be?**

Feyre, 12:11am: **You have to kiss me again.**

 _Come on,_ I silently urged him. _Take the bait._ _Play with me..._

Rhysand, 12:12am: **Was it that good?**

Exactly what I was expecting. I could _hear_ him smirking on the other end, and if he thought I was going to let him get away with it, he was sorely mistaken.

Feyre, 12:12am: **No, I just think you deserve a second chance after being so terrible at it earlier. And I’m a kind person, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.**

 _Lie._  I was sure he knew it too. I blushed as I remembered the feeling of his lips on mine, and I swore I could taste rain and citrus on my tongue as I replayed the memory.

A few moments passed and I started to worry that I’d gone too far, that my joke had backfired. But his reply came a minute later.

Rhysand, 12:13am: **You caught me off guard.**

Feyre, 12:14am: **Excuses…**

A heartbeat later, another message popped up.

Rhysand, 12:14am: **If you want, I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong. I’ve been told I’m very, very good at kissing. And not just on the lips.**

My face heated, and I suddenly felt a little too warm under the covers. I clenched my legs together, taking care not to kick Mor.

Feyre, 12:15am: **Goodnight, Rhys**

I reached to place my phone on my nightstand when the screen lit up again. I leaned over to look at it.

Rhysand, 12:15am: **Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me.**

Flopping back in bed, I squeezed my eyes shut, his last text burning behind my eyelids as I tried not to think about what he’d said. And failed. I could imagine his laughter on the other end as surely as if he was right next to me, and I scowled into the darkness. Beside me, Mor stirred.

"Az..." she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Az-riel…” I fought back a chuckle. Informing her tomorrow morning that she had been mumbling her boyfriend's name in her sleep would definitely be something to look forward to. _Though_ , I thought, she might not be alone in that regard, dreaming of a man with his name falling unwittingly from her lips. _Try not to moan too loudly when you dream about me._ Finally, with that thought in mind, my eyes slipped shut and unconsciousness swept me away, the memory of Rhys's laughter singing me to sleep. And I dreamt of shooting stars, a piano making music out of water, and violet eyes filled with starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've made it all the way to the end of this fic! There will be an epilogue that I will (hopefully!!) be posting soon, but this is the last chapter, at least for now. After the epilogue, if I ever get inspiration, I might post a smut scene *evil laughter* 
> 
> Thank you so so so *ten minutes later* so so much for reading, and I really hope you've enjoyed it! Feel free to tell me what you think, and come find me on Tumblr :) 
> 
> P.s., The song that inspired Feyre and Rhysand's dance scene is Nuvole Bianche, by Ludovico Einaudi. I highly recommend that you have a listen, because it's incredibly beautiful, and when I was writing about the piano music in that scene, it was this piece that I was describing. Here's a link to it:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3534m2603BY

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Feel free to leave me a comment, and come join me on Tumblr!


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